


I'm the first in line (the ABBA-dabba-doo mix)

by Pares (kormantic)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Accidents With Ancient Technology, Choose Your Own Adventure!, Clone Angst, Community: gateverse_remix, F/M, Gen, Remix, doppelgangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-01
Updated: 2007-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:13:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kormantic/pseuds/Pares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Huh," said John. The <em>other</em> John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm the first in line

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Take a Chance on Me](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/18788) by chopchica. 



> Thanks to siriaeve for the quick and dirty beta, child.

"Huh," said John.

"Huh," said John. The _other_ John.

They stared at each other. It was weird looking into his own face; it looked off, somehow, but that was probably due to years of looking at it in reverse in mirrors and not because he was eyeball to eyeball with his very own evil twin. Unless _he_ was the evil twin. John closed his eyes briefly; he didn't _feel_ evil, so he said, "I'm not the evil twin," just as the other John said the same thing.

"Dear God. Sheppard in _stereo_ ," said Rodney, sounding genuinely dismayed.

The Johns shrugged. Rodney hadn't been even a little bit killed, and while the talking disco ball had been pushy in its touchy-feely-inner-truth sort of way, but it hadn't seemed overtly malevolent. John figured one more member of his team beat one less any day.

*

John changed his mind about that when John refused to let him pilot the jumper home.

Once they'd left the Pegasus version of Studio 54, John and his double walked out to meet Teyla and Ronon with Rodney trailing behind them with his mouth hanging open. Both Teyla and Ronon had frowned, but while Ronon had pulled his gun and loomed at them, Teyla had introduced herself. After a minute, Ronon had stopped doing whatever it was he'd been doing (John was tempted to call it 'sniffing at his hair', but then he didn't actually want to call it _anything_ , so he resolved to stop thinking about it) and Teyla had merely waved her hand to indicate that the Johns should take the lead back to the jumper.

Once they got there, both he and John went for the command chair at the same time, which turned into wedging their shoulders against each other trying to shove the other one back, and then they were grappling with one another and possibly it would have devolved into hairpulling if Teyla hadn't cracked the whip.

"Stop this at once," said Teyla sharply. The Johns let each other go and tried to make their faces neutral. "Rodney will take us home. Ronon, you will see that they are comfortably settled in the back of the jumper. I will dial ahead and inform Elizabeth of the... change in our complement."

On the short flight home, Ronon kept a baleful eye on them, finally asking, "Which one of you is Sheppard?"

Rodney made a squeaking sound and leaned out of his chair to crane around and stare at them.

"Jesus. What if neither of them are Sheppard? What if we left the _real_ one back on the planet and these two are just... _decoys?_ " He looked well and truly horrified, and John couldn't help but feel his gut clench—what if Rodney was right? John looked down at his hands helplessly, noting that the other him was doing the same thing, but Ronon sounded absolutely confident when he rumbled, "No, they're him, all right. They smell like Sheppard."

John looked back at Ronon feeling almost lightheaded with gratitude.

*

He spent an annoying day: prodded by Carson, given the fish eye by a wary Elizabeth, and arguing with Rodney, Zelenka and... himself. It put a whole new meaning to the phrase, "Where ever you go, there you are." His ex-wife had complained about his competitive nature, and seeing as how he'd basically spent the day in endless pissing contests with a guy who looked exactly like him, he found out the hard way that it was just as obnoxious as she'd told him it was. Unfortunately, they both seemed incapable of backing down.

After Rodney left the lab, the place seemed even less interesting, so John took the opportunity to ditch his doppelganger and stroll toward Rodney's quarters. He checked a few times, but he didn't seem to have an escort trailing him maybe they figured the security cameras were enough. Or maybe his genuine DNA was worth a free pass, magic disco twin notwithstanding. John made himself try not to think about it.

He was still trying not to think about it as he left Rodney's room. The whole conversation had made his teeth clench—the last thing he'd expected from Rodney was a whole load of "get to know the inner you" crap.

*

He'd promised Beckett that he'd spend the night in the infirmary,

[so he made his unhurried way back, whistling to himself, low and tuneless.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/727457/chapters/1350410)

[but he found himself heading for Ronon's quarters.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/727457/chapters/1350420)

[but he found himself heading for Teyla's quarters.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/727457/chapters/1350424)

[but he swung by his own room instead.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/727457/chapters/1350430)  



	2. (if you're all alone)

...so he made his unhurried way back, whistling to himself, low and tuneless. As he turned the corner past the botany lab, he heard laughter and the murmur of conversation, so he decided to drop in and catch up on his idle chit-chat.

"Colonel," Lorne said placidly, hardly raising his head. He was dabbing at a canvas the size of a plate glass window, which was saying something in Atlantis, and Cadman was curled up in a papasan chair (who the hell had requisitioned a goddamn _papasan_ chair?) wearing nothing but a smile.*

Some of the we-promise-they-won't-kill-you flora had been arranged behind Cadman, so she looked like a jungle princess reclining in her leafy bower. Despite her fine boned little frame, John knew she had no trouble projecting her inner lioness; it was clearly evident in the expression on her face in the painting Lorne was working on.

" _This_ is what you do in your spare time?" John managed.

Lorne nodded incrementally and dabbed at his canvas again.

Cadman smirked and stretched her arms above her head. John tried not to pay too much attention.

"I posed with Teyla last week," she offered pertly, clearly eager to offer far, far too much information. "And Ronon before that."

At this point, Lorne's busy attention to the painting became actively staged, and John sighed and shook his head.

"Just remind me to wear a blindfold to the inevitable gallery showing, okay?"

This time, he squared his shoulders, dropped his head and made for the infirmary, stolidly ignoring any inviting sounds of lively interaction he passed along the way, steeling himself for a night of his own irritating company.

But when he got there, aside from the nightshift medical staff, the infirmary was empty.

Feeling sullen and somehow left out, John tried to console himself with countless games of sudoku, and then laptop pinball, and when the other John still failed to show, he closed the laptop, turned his bedside lamp off, punched his pillow and pretended he could sleep.

About an hour of semi-darkness spent listening to the soft pad of the med staff and the distant beep of medical scanners, the other John finally crept in. From the corner of his eye, John could see he was suspiciously rumpled, and his face was blank enough that he was plainly feeling guilty. Not I've-just-come-from-an-evening-of-sabotage guilty, but I'm-sneaking-back-from-a-night-of-good-times guilty.

Bastard, John thought uncharitably, and finally slept.

Bright and early the next morning, John wolfed down his breakfast and then nabbed John's tray out of his sleepy grasp and challenged him to a duel. The other John had looked wiped-out and blurry, but his face sharpened into a foxy grin and he accepted the challenge with zenlike calm. And then he stole his waffles back.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Lorne's downtime hobbies suggested by what is [possibly the funniest chat conversation ever held.](http://eruthros.dreamwidth.org/178526.html)


	3. (if you put me to the test)

...but he found himself heading for Ronon's quarters. Even at his chattiest, Ronon rarely spoke unless he was answering a direct question, and John wasn't overanxious to spend the night scuffing it up with his other half in the infirmary, and if he, this John, the one standing in front of Ronon's door, was secretly a sleeper agent programmed to maim Atlantis, Ronon would shoot him before he got out of the room.

"Hey," he said when Ronon answered the door. Ronon nodded at him and stood aside to let him in. John took a moment to notice that the room looked more lived in: a pile of folded shirts on one of the chairs, a game console, several pairs of boots lined up against the wall.

"You know I'm the real guy, right? I mean, John Sheppard, the original and best?" 

Ronon considered him a moment, head cocked like he was listening to a sound only he could hear and then shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. You're both him."

"Yeah, well, it matters to _me_ ," John said sharply. "Especially as I get the distinct impression that one of us is temporary, and it might be _me_."

Ronon shrugged again and said, "Either way, there'll be a Sheppard."

"You know, I came to you because I thought you'd have a little insight into really getting to know the 'real' you. I mean, you must have had plenty of time to plumb your inner depths when you were... Uh."

Ronon's stony face had one tilted eyebrow that suggested amusement. Or something John was choosing to interpret as amusement. Otherwise, Ronon was about to slap him down. It could go either way, really.

Instead, Ronon stepped forward and sort of tucked John's nose into his armpit (which smelled like armpit and cured leather) and slapped him on the back a few times. Then he held John by the shoulders at arm's-length and stooped a little to peer into John's eyes. After a long moment, where John held his breath to wait on Ronon's verdict (and to notice that his skin still smarted under his shirt from where Ronon had smacked him with his huge, heavy hands) Ronon let him go and folded his arms.

"You smell like him. You look like him. You're him. Stop worrying about it."

"Easy for you to say. I'm a walking split personality! Maybe I'm a robot!" He pointed a finger and demanded, "What if I'm being mind-controlled by an alien disco ball?"  
  
Ronon leaned forward slightly, and said with some intensity, "You're. Him."

"What makes you so sure?"

"You're annoying," Ronon pointed out.

"Anyone can be annoying," John replied, turning his glare to full force so that Ronon had some idea who 'anyone' might be in this particular instance. 

"Fine. You tell me. What would Sheppard do?"

"Huh?"

"You've got the night off. If there's an emergency, the other one can handle it."

" _He_ might be mind-controlled by an alien disco ball!"

"So you want to go follow him around and make sure he's you, too?"

John thought about it.

"Nah. Not really. And _no_ I don't want to get my ass handed to me in the gym, either," John said, narrowing his eyes.

"Geyer lent me his Frisbee. It glows in the dark," Ronon added.

John felt a grin slide onto his face, envisioning the huge enclosed space with the skylights on the south pier.

"Excellent."

END


	4. (if you let me try)

...but he found himself heading for Teyla's quarters. She was better at the touchy-feely stuff anyway, and less likely to annoy him. Also more likely to have sweet tea and comfortable furniture. John wasn't overanxious to spend the night scuffing it up with his other half in the infirmary, and if he, this John, the one standing in front of Teyla's door, was secretly a sleeper agent programmed to maim Atlantis, Teyla would sweep his legs and brain him before he got out of the room.

"Hey," he said, when she answered the door.

"John," she said cautiously, her eyes searching his face.

"Sort of," he allowed.

"Please, come in," she said, and smiled, a warm, real Teyla smile, and John relaxed a little for the first time that day. She took his arm and led him into her room. He breathed deep, the smell of spices and the heavy cloth tapestries braided with fragrant bark, and underneath it all, the thin, sweet scent of steeping Athosian tea. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what it was like to be just one person, in one place at a time.

He was quiet for a long time, and Teyla let him be, sitting crosslegged on her bed, her face open, listening.

Eventually he said, "Look, I don't know if I'm the real thing or what, but I get the feeling that this is temporary. That... _I'm_ temporary."

She nodded and said gently, "You must be very frightened."

He didn't answer, but then he didn't need to. She held out one hand and he took it, awkwardly, and she towed him nearer, and he knelt, finally, on her bed beside her. She drew him down and touched her forehead to his, and he closed his eyes and tried to center himself, but then she slid her hands into his hair and he let himself press his face against the smooth, hot skin of her throat.

"It will be all right, John. You will not disappear. You will be whole again," she whispered, and he nodded blindly. She kissed his ear and he tightened his hands in the dense fabric of her shirt, and she said, "We are all of us temporary. But we may have this moment."

He drew away then, a little awed, and cupped her cheek. Her eyes were vivid and deep, and he moved toward her incrementally, giving her every chance to change her mind, to decide that she hadn't just made him an offer, but he was lonely and there were two of him and he didn't know how long he had, and hell, he loved her, she was _team_ and he'd never thought they'd have this.

In the end, she took his hands and kissed him first, her mouth warm, smiling against his.

*

Later, in the panting dark of afterglow, her head heavy on his shoulder, her hand spread protectively against the center of his chest, John slept and didn't dream.

She jostled him awake some time later and helped him dress, slowly, zipping his pants and adjusting his crumpled shirt. Then she combed her fingers through his hair with a vague smile and cupped the back of his neck to bring his forehead to hers once more before sending him back to the infirmary with a solid little shove to the small of his back.

"I will see you again, John Sheppard," she said firmly, and then closed the door on him.

John wanted to believe her; more than that, he _did_.

END


	5. (when the pretty birds have flown)

...but he swung by his own room instead. He rummaged in the niche that served as his closet for his bucket of golf balls and a zippered case, and then grabbed his favorite driver and a glove before jogging out to the East Pier.

There was no moon, but the stars flung across the sky like so much spilled glitter obliged him with light enough to let him sink the entire bucket's worth into the black sea.

When the bucket was empty, John sat down and pulled his PDA out of his pocket and flipped through to the window setting that let him track the golf balls. This brand floated, and for his birthday this year, Rodney had tagged them with tracking chips and then presented him with a working model of the [RC AH-64 Apache](http://www.hobbytron.com/ElectricRCAH64ApacheRTRHelicopterDR678.html).

"I tweaked it; it's got a range of over a mile, and with naquadah-enhanced batteries, it'll fly for three solid days. Oh, and see? I've rigged it with a grappling claw," Rodney had explained.

"That's _cool_ ," John had enthused. "But why?"

Rodney had blinked at him.

"So you can get the golf balls back," he'd said, his entire attitude saying he couldn't believe he was wasting his time speaking with simpletons.

John unzipped the case and set the Apache on the pier. This was only the second time he'd used it, and although the chopper had lights, it was difficult to judge relative distances at night, and John figured he'd lose more balls than he recovered, but it was fun as hell—maybe more fun than the golfing part, if John was honest.

He fished for over an hour, the tiny whir of the chopper blades rising and falling in the distance. Finally, he called the chopper back and carefully wiped down the claw mechanism and its cable with an oiled cloth so the winch and joints wouldn't freeze up, and carried everything back to his room.

Once there, he looked around at his posters, his stereo, the surfboard he hadn't even had a chance to use yet and wondered if he'd ever see this place again. The chances were fifty-fifty that he wouldn't. After a minute, John leaned the driver in the corner and stripped off the glove and dropped it on his neatly made bed. He set the chopper case beside it and backed away a few steps, closing his eyes.

He thought of Teyla's expression the day he'd met her: wary welcome, a willingness to give him a chance even if he was a fool. Waking up on the cave floor with her at his back and blinking into Ronon's face, set and desolate, smeared with cracking mud—but with eyes still hungry, still curious. Rodney's intense, breathless excitement, the way he'd demanded that John _think about where we are in the solar system._

John didn't think it made much sense to be jealous of _himself_ , but there it was. It probably went a long way to explaining why he and the other John kept going head to head over every damned thing. Checking his watch, John figured it was time to get back to the infirmary. On the way, he worked out how they could get into the jumper bay before anyone knew what they were up to.

END


End file.
